


Cobblestone

by TrepidationColliquation



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson, University Student Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrepidationColliquation/pseuds/TrepidationColliquation
Summary: Brief: Louis wanders down a cobblestone road, dishevelled and lost. He feels like an actor going through the motions of the scripted-unscripted screenplay that is his nothing-special life, contemplating dropping out of university because of his own perceived lack of originality and inspiration. He longs for a feeling that he doesn't know how to name, doesn't know how to place. So, he walks down this cobblestone street, lit with tealight reflections, and surrounded by cool, crisp, almost winter air, unwittingly screaming a longing for answers while concurrently seeking distractions from those answers. The stones seem to hear his silent cries, changing the course of his scripted-unscripted screenplay of a life. Changing the course of Louis's life, and life itself, forever.“Well, then,” said no one and every possible ethereal living and non-living thing in the history of existence itself. “I’ll give you a distraction you can’t ignore.”
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely sure what this story is supposed to be, hence the lack of summary. I've been feeling out of sorts lately, distracted, and cloudy, busy. I can't quite put into words what I'm feeling or why I feel that way, but I feel that way, nonetheless. I found myself writing one night, just writing and writing and writing. I wrote the first chapter in a sitting and didn't think I would ever share it with anyone, just writing and writing to get the scene out of my head. It helped with my feeling of unease, distraction. It helped. So, I’ve decided to post it here on AO3 and will continue writing the story because it’s still helping, and I am still enjoying myself. I am not sure where this story is going, where it will end up or how it will play out, when I’ll be finished writing, how long it will be, or how often I’ll update it. I don’t even fancy myself a writer, really. Sharing this with anyone is a very vulnerable position for me; I generally value privacy, and part of what privacy means to me is keeping my words, thoughts, and experiences to myself. But, this time, I think I want to step out of my comfort zone and share my words, thoughts, and experiences with you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not consent to any unauthorized exhibition, distribution or copying of this work or part thereof without prior written consent. It is not intended or inferred this work makes identification with places, buildings, persons and/or products; the story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this work are fictitious. Although I have based my characters on the members of One Direction and used their names, this work is in no way intended to reflect or represent the thoughts, feelings, beliefs, actions of the cede member, or otherwise identify with the actual members themselves. This is a work of fiction and is in no way intended to represent the thoughts, feelings, beliefs, or actions of any member, or in any other circumstance reflect the actual character or person of cede member.
> 
> Author’s Note: Please do not translate, repost, or share my work in any way. This story is still a work in progress, has not yet been written in its entirety, and could change as the story progresses, as needed. I am not comfortable with anyone reposting or translating anything until it is complete, and not without my written permission. If you have any questions or want to speak to me for any reason, my Twitter is @/trepidationvsix. I won't give spoilers or explain too much because I don't want to spoil anything and the story hasn't even been fully written or edited, but I'm always happy to hear feedback! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written so far. I will update tags as the story progresses!

Louis couldn’t believe his eyes.

He truly couldn’t believe it.

Louis was no stone expert, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the true beauty bestowed upon him as he took in his surroundings. He didn’t entirely know where he was, how he got here, distracted and frazzled and truly a sight to be seen. But here he was, almost perilously wandering between a twisting row of dim streetlights whose light barely caught the air between the stone buildings lining the stone streets with the stone sidewalks, and that dewy, dry, deliciously crisp air.

There is no combination of contrasting words that could accurately put together the environment he found himself surrounded by. It was beautiful. The not-entirely-wet, not-entirely-dry cobblestone streets, with green peeking through every crack at every possible opportunity. How the stone changed, somehow, from the street to the sidewalk; each stoned area exuding a different personality, telling entirely different tales, holding the secrets of passerby past. Somehow, when they’re all put together – the cobblestone street, the cobblestone sidewalk, and the seemingly cobblestone buildings looming overhead, too – they speak a tale only your ears can hear. The stones can hear your every most inner, personal, private thought; they know the thoughts you don’t even know are stuffed in the ebbs of your unconscious.

How do the stones manage, exactly, to both absorb the dewy rain and reflect the streetlights back? Why is that so…

The feeling tore at his insides, and made him feel a feeling of longing so far from the feeling of home, and yet… It still felt, somehow, familiar. Comforting. Like home. Like maybe how he wanted home to feel. Like maybe how he’d been longing to feel for quite some time now.

Louis was no expert on greenery, either, but he sure does appreciate a good green when he sees it. The green peeking, reaching, effortlessly struggling through the stones, growing up and down and around them, seemingly growing from nowhere and everywhere all at once. All sorts of different greens, surrounding shades of grey and brown that all seemed to be the same yet different. Textures. Shapes. All vastly different, yet the same when put into this perfectly improperly lit street. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. It’s not like Louis had never seen cobblestone. He’d been around enough to see cobblestone before. He wasn’t a traveller by any means, but he’s travelled. Well-travelled, even, by most standards. He’d worked a plethora of odd jobs throughout his high school and failed university careers, just barely scraping by but somehow still saving up money whenever he could. He truly doesn’t know how he thought he could’ve done it now, balancing multiple jobs while spending so many countless hours studying, studying away.

It’s not that he didn’t like studying, he loved it. He loved pouring through mounts of books and scattered papers, organizing his thoughts into his notebooks (not a laptop, thank you very much), learning as he wrote and pouring his heart and soul into every works cited list. Even for the classes he wasn’t particularly fond of. But, as it turns out, his works cited lists were too long and Louis couldn’t come up with an original thought of his own, seemed like. He was uninspired. Uninspired and unoriginal and pretty fucking stupid, honestly, he thought. After struggling for some time, trying to figure out what he was doing this all for anyways, he’d decided to drop out. He quit. Just like everything else, as he does, Louis quit.

And now, here he was. Slowly walking in the middle of this quiet, perfectly poorly lit road, only barely being considered lit thanks to the glistening reflections of the golden-hued streetlights in the small puddles and surfaces of the cobblestone streets and sidewalks. Each puddle and surface echoed its own reflection, it seemed. Kind of like tealights. He chuckled. Tealights? A ridiculous, romantic thought.

Accompanied only by the pang of failure wrenching its way through his upper torso, which would’ve been piercing through his heart if he thought he had one, Louis felt stunningly alone. This perfectly green-and-brown-and-gold-hued street had a heavy presence around him. Yet, not unwelcoming. Just a cementing, impending doom of reality.

 _You’re here_ , the street seemed to boomingly whisper to him. _You have no choice but to be here. In the world. It exists._

And, oh, how Louis wished the world didn’t exist, just for one moment.

As he furthered down this street, this seemingly endless, nameless, street, taking in the sweet smell of rain on cobblestone and emptiness, his ears picked up the sound of a low thumping. The kind of low thumping that, if close enough, would envelop your whole body and submerse you in its reverberations. An artificial heartbeat, placing itself purposefully into your chest, in a place where your heart might be if you thought you didn’t have one, pumping a feeling into you that could replace nearly any feeling of emptiness or solidarity, because everyone else would surely be feeling it, too. An artificial heartbeat, thumping and thumping and pumping and pumping new life into you, if only for a song.

 _I could use that right about now_ , Louis thought to himself. Anything to replace this feeling of complete failure combined with uncertainty. He still hadn’t withdrawn from university yet, not officially, but he hadn’t been to lecture at any point this week. It’s still early in the week, only Tuesday, but as much of a failure he thought himself to be, Louis never backed out of where he was supposed to be at any given time.

He couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t bring himself to actually... Do it. He’s made his decision. He knows he’s going to, he must. He doesn’t have an ounce of originality in his body and nothing to offer anyone. He’s an imposter in the university hallways, classrooms, libraries, the walls which echo future-driven, optimistic, bright-eyed students, eager for the rest of their lives. But that’s not Louis. Once Louis finally, officially withdraws from university, once he actually does, he’ll cement his place in the world as the true failure of a human being that he is, with absolutely nothing to live for. But he can’t even bring himself to do that. The one thing he’s set his mind to.

“Fuck this,” he whispered to himself, picking up pace. He needed to find that low thumping, now. Where there’s thumping, there’s alcohol and distracting prospects. Hell, maybe even some drugs, too. Anything to get his mind anywhere but where it is now. If there’s anything Louis’ good at, it’s distracting himself, even if only for a night.

His vision blurred, tunnelling to scan for any possible sign of life coming from the windows of any possible establishment who might supply him any possible form of a distraction, thumping growing louder and louder as he marched along. Louis was truly a sight in this setting; dishevelled, frantic, smoke clouds of warm breath penetrating the almost-winter air surrounding him amongst the vines and cobblestones and browns and greens.

The stones, unbeknownst to Louis, hauntingly, tauntingly, laughed. A low rumble, which Louis perceived in his human existence as the thumping of a pub getting closer, clearer, able to make out whatever karaoke song was being sung terribly within whatever pub’s cobblestone exterior. Louis didn’t know it, but the desperate cry he’d unwittingly called into the universe, or something, was exactly why the universe, or something, had lead him to the stones, to this cobblestoned street amongst vines and browns and greens. It was right beneath his feet, to his left and to his right, looming over him, all in the form of cobblestone and tealights. The universe-or-something had answered his call and presented him with the opportunity to quell is unconscious pleas for an understanding of his life, to find a sense of purpose, a calm in the storm of his mind. It was all supposed to guide him to the answer while he walked the stones, searched his mind. The stones and hazy tealight puddles were supposed to allow Louis to take in the beauty of the world around him, the world that really was here, surrounding him. The universe-or-something hadn’t planned on giving him all the answers, but there was a reason to its stirring madness. And now, Louis was so blatantly, desperately searching for a distraction from the answer so graciously presented to him, unknowingly shifting the entire plan the universe-or-something had in store.

“Well, then,” said no one and every possible ethereal living and non-living thing in the history of existence itself. “I’ll give you a distraction you can’t ignore.”

_Thump._

_Thump._


	2. Chapter 2

Louis stared at his reflection in the pub’s front door. The thumping was blaringly loud.

Louis quite liked how he looked tonight, all things considered. He didn’t deem himself a fashion expert, not for what he paid for his almost-entirely thrifted closet, but he did get compliments from time to time. This coat in particular got a lot of compliments, which Louis never got tired of hearing because it’s his favourite coat. And being on the receiving end of compliments, especially when he’s in one of his states, much like the state he’s currently in.

He’d only bought it recently, when the warm summer air had just begun to shift into the crisp air he now stood in, before he’d deemed himself a waste of existence on this planet. He’d gone to his favourite thrift shop, the kind that offered mostly shit clothes for prices nowhere near the value of the clothes themselves, but when the clothes and deals were good, they were _good_. The hidden gems among the piles of shit. That’s what Louis loved. And that’s what Louis found in this London Fog vintage coat, which stylishly draped almost to the top of his just-over-the-ankle leather Chelsea boots (which were authentic, genuine horseback riding boots from his childhood and not those hipster fakes, thank you very much), its forest green corduroy nothing like he’d ever seen before. In the right lighting, it hinted at a golden hue, especially where it perfectly fit his shoulders and in the twists the wrap around his waist allowed to hint at his figure. It draped in all the right places, lined with real, burgundy purple satin. Louis had unwittingly dressed to match his cobblestoned, vine-filled surroundings. Huh.

He’d gotten it for an unbeatable price, severely undervalued. Louis liked undervalued. Not even just because of his begrudgingly scant wallet. He’d only just bought this favourite jacket of his when the warm summer air had just begun to shift into the crisp air he now stood in, the air which allowed Louis to gaze upon the cloud of breath he caused to surround him and the light wisps of steam coming up from the cobblestone.

The tealights disappeared in a tight circle around him, instead being illuminated from above by a backlit sign which seemed to scream the words ‘LEOPOLD’S. KARAOKE EVERY TUESDAY NIGHT.’ across it. Louis looked up at it, squinting at its bright, almost misplaced presence on this street. What’s a karaoke bar, a loud karaoke bar at that, doing on this street? And why hadn’t he heard of it before? Louis loved karaoke. And why isn’t anyone out here smoking? Normally, this is where Louis would suss out the vibe of a place – he’d interact with the smokers, maybe charmingly stealing one or asking for a light from someone he knew or a stranger he found particularly distraction-inducing or attractive. Louis had no problem talking to strangers. He’d gladly speak to almost – almost – anyone else than be left alone with his thoughts for too long. But he couldn’t do that here, because the cobblestoned streets lay empty, barren but full of a presence he couldn’t understand, dark and trickled with tealights, for as far as Louis could see.

“Alright, then,” Louis whispered to himself, shaking his head to clear it, shifting his gaze back to his reflection in the pub’s door. “Here we go,” he said to no one in particular.

_Here we go, indeed,_ something almost menacingly nagged to Louis’ existence, threatening to change the very path of his entire life’s plan if he dared to take a step forward. But Louis didn’t quite possess the ability to dissect his own thoughts, refusing to understand his own heart, not that he thought he had one, and his seemingly ever-cloudy mind. So, he didn’t hear the almost-threat, almost-promise, given by the universe, or something, if he took that step.

So he did.

*****

Well, Louis can see why no one’s out smoking now.

“Brilliant,” Louis beamed and almost chuckled to himself as he stood just past the entryway to this mysterious pub-karaoke-whateverthefuck place he found himself in.

Everyone had gone mad. Truly, absolutely, utterly mad. Everyone was dancing on tables, throwing their arms about, singing along to an albeit not-awful karaoke participant. There was a stage somewhere over to the back of this quite large space, which he couldn’t quite but just barely. The hoards of dancing, singing, happy people danced around him and above him on tables, spilling pints and bottles and glasses and everything possible all about. This place was absolutely mental, but not the stuffy mental you’d see in a club, full of weirdos in white t-shirts, half-dancing to some generic beat, who only wanted to snag some bottle service and a lousy-at-best shag with whatever conquest they deemed okayest-of-them-all. No, this place’s energy was enthralling, almost genuine despite everyone certainly doing all this to participate in something less genuine than simply enjoying themselves.

The people here seemed… The perfect distraction. Louis decided he abso-fucking-lutely needed to get on their level.

His eyes searched for and quickly found the bar, hidden behind dancing bodies. He walked over, greeting the kind bartender, and ordered his first drink of the night. Then the second. Then the third. Quickly, much too fast to actually say he’d enjoyed the drinks, Louis had consumed enough to loosen his shoulders. His mind was still very aware, though, much to his dismay.

“You alright, mate?” the kind bartender asked. He was holding another glass, hesitating to prepare Louis’ next. Louis thought he looked rather out of place here. The bartender had sincere eyes, not like any other bartender he’d ever seen – and he’d seen a lot – which piqued Louis’ interest.

“Oh, brilliant, just brilliant!” Louis declared, unsarcastically and seemingly genuinely. Louis knew how to put on a good show, even on his deepest, most darkest days. Louis knew how to socialize, and even though he was an honest person, someone upfront with his thoughts and genuine in his interactions with others, he learned very early on how to put on a charming face. It’s what made him such a good bartender himself, for a spell, before he’d inevitably gotten bored and defeated, as he always does.

“How’s your night going, alright?” he asked the bartender with the kind eyes. Louis always thought himself genuinely curious about others, and maybe he was sometimes, but the universe-or-something knew that wasn’t always the case with Louis. Seeking out a distraction was at the forefront of all his actions, whether he knew it or not.

“Oh, cheers, mate. Going alright. First time here?” The bartender asked, preparing Louis’ fifth drink in a matter minutes.

“Stumbled upon it, as it happens. It’s quite charming,” Louis smirked and chuckled as he pointed to a group of shrill university-aged screechers dancing behind him, who were less charming and more embarrassing than anything.

The bartender’s eyes widened in an exaggerated eyeroll which went along with Louis’ bit naturally. He chuckled as he did it.

“The name’s Louis, Louis Tomlinson.” Louis declared as he extended a hand to the bartender. It’s always good to be on the bartender’s good side.

The bartender looked at Louis’ hand for a moment, but not too long of a moment. He almost hesitated, but not quite, and not out of annoyance, but out of an almost-habit that stemmed from an almost-lack-of-confidence, of maybe having been introduced to one too many people because he was a bartender and knew introductions were vapid and meaningless. Or maybe because he’d been introduced to one too many people who he didn’t want to know. It’s the kind of hesitation that maybe nobody would else would have noticed, were Louis not so skilled in analyzing anyone other than himself.

The split second ended, and the bartender took Louis’ hand into a nice, pleasant handshake.

“Zayn. Zayn Malik.” he smiled-almost-smirked back, as part of the routine. Not inauthentically, but the bartender had definitely introduced himself before and it was definitely second nature, and he could definitely do it in his sleep at this point.

“Nice to meet you, mate!” Louis declared, continuing his charm, releasing the pleasant handshake. “Have you worked here long?” His eyes almost glistened in a practiced, well-rehearsed, not-inauthentic-and-definitely-not-guarded cheek.

“A while. Keeps things from getting too boring,” winked Zayn, oozing that fake-but-genuine bartender charm. That guarded-but-genuine bartender charm.

“I bet,” Louis chuckled from the rim of his drink.

The whole interaction was pleasant. Nothing spectacular, nothing memorable, but nothing immemorable either. Louis could tell the bartender with kind eyes whose name he now knew was Zayn, Zayn Malik, viewed his position as bartender as just that. A position. Not his life. Louis liked that.

“Say, hate to be a bother, but I think I’d like to sign myself up for a song or two. Is there anywhere I might leave my jacket safely?” Louis asked, leaning on the bar and careful not to place his forearm in any sticky-wet-stuff. “This is my favourite jacket,” he half-smirked back.

“’Course. I’ll watch it behind here if you’d like,” the kind-eyed and ever so courteous bartender Zayn offered. He really was good at his job, Louis decided.

“Cheers. I’ll leave you something representative of my eternal thanks at the end of the night,” Louis grinned and winked as he glided his favourite coat off his shoulders, handing it to Zayn.

“No bother. Just don’t cause too much trouble like the rest of the lot and that’ll be payment enough!” Zayn joked, chuckling, and taking Louis’ coat.

Louis exaggeratedly bowed in appreciation towards Zayn, deserving him an eyeroll and a shoulder shrug, as he snatched his who-knows-what-numbered drink in who-knows-how-many-minutes, and ventured to find the sign-up sheet.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis can’t move. He’s frozen in place. It’s like time has slowed, everything around him has darkened and turned into a tunnel, with the bar at the end of the cobblestoned street being the only other thing in existence. Sounds almost twinkle, hypersensitivity making the dewdrops clatter like shattering glass and the deafening of crunching snow in a silent wood.

_My fucking jacket._

How did he leave without his jacket? How could he possibly have left without his jacket?

In all honesty, Louis is quite pissed and can’t remember most of what he’d gotten up to tonight. He barely remembers making it to the end of the cobblestoned street. The wind is colder now, and Louis suspects its misty almost-rain is what caused him to snap back into consciousness.

It wasn’t.

Louis shakes his head and goes to rub his eyes with his palms when he notices his arm is entangled with another. Confused, he looks at the stranger next to him.

“What’s the matter?” the stranger hiccups, giggling and slightly stumbling in his drunken state. Not a bad conquest, especially for having forgotten ever having met the boy or any form of courtship having taken place, Louis would think. Had he not forgotten his favourite jacket.

“I’ve forgotten my jacket!” Louis exclaims, friendly and flirty, smiling at the poor drunken pretty thing before him. “My _favourite_ jacket! How could you do this to me?” he pretend-pleads, flirty and coy, once again putting on a show for the role he knows he’s put himself into.

The pretty stranger with sparkly blonde hair and red, drunken eyes doesn’t seem to understand that this is truly Louis’ favourite jacket, probably thanks to Louis’ willingness to be flirty and friendly and suited to the situation more than anything else.

“It’ll be fine, love, let’s fetch it tomorrow after breakfast,” the drunken stranger slurs between hiccups. Louis knows then that he is in no way taking this pretty stranger home tonight. Louis loves a distraction, but only when that distraction is able to consent to it.

“Oh, but it’s my absolute _favourite_ , darling,” Louis coos, holding the pretty, strange, sparkly blonde stranger from stumbling over himself. “I must get it tonight. But first, we’ve got to get you home, yeah?”

Amidst a series of drunken protests and flirty pleadings, Louis finally spots a taxi on the corner and props the pretty stranger in it. He tries to kiss Louis goodbye, which Louis successfully avoids, chuckling and saying they’ll chat later as he closes the taxi door. Only, Louis knows that’s a lie, because he can’t remember the pretty stranger’s name and he’s sure he didn’t get his phone number.

Oh well.

Louis makes sure the driver gets the pretty stranger’s address, delivered through a series of _are you sure’s_ and _what’s_ your _address, I’ll wait for you there’s_ , when the taxi finally drives off and leaves Louis alone again.

“Hope he’ll be alright,” Louis sighs to himself in a whisper. He’s sure the pretty stranger will be embarrassed in the morning, if he even remembers anything at all, and Louis thinks there’s no point in being crass about the drunken state of others. He’s put himself in entirely too many situations himself, said far too many things, mostly when he’s in one of his states. This is one of those moments where Louis genuinely means what he says and hopes the pretty stranger, tonight or any other night, will be alright.

With a moment’s pause and a sudden shiver, Louis lets out a _brrr_ and shakes himself to the present once again. He’s glad he’s been able to come out of his drunken blackness, and definitely thinks it’s because of this cold mist he finds himself dampened by.

It’s not.

Louis heads back to where he thinks the pub was, walking through the cobblestoned roads once again, this time not paying attention to looming secrets the stones hold or the tealight puddles or any of it, not even for a moment. He’s far too preoccupied with keeping his fingers on his hands and his shoulders hunched in a protective sense of false warmth. It’s not quite winter yet, but the season’s unexpectedly colder this year, with October feeling more like late November. Or January, without his favourite protective jacket.

Louis almost passes the pub as he’s looking down constantly, trying to protect his face from the cold, misty wind, when he notices cigarette butts littering the cobblestones below him. He stops, looks around, notices that street is no longer lit by the pub’s sign.

“Shit,” he shivers, rushing to try the pub’s door to no avail.

“What time is it?” Louis wails to himself. He’s freezing, he can’t get his jacket, hasn’t got his phone or his wallet or the keys to his flat or anything, because they’re all placed in his jacket pocket. Louis doesn’t even know where he is if he’s being honest, as he can’t remember how he got to this cobblestoned road in the first place. Brilliant.

Suddenly, Louis hears the lock to the door click and the door opens to Zayn Malik’s puzzled face.

“ZAYN! Oh, thank God,” Louis sighs in genuine relief. It can’t be too far past closing time, and thankfully Zayn’s still here. “Mate, I’m so sorry to bother you at the end of your night, but I’ve forgotten my jacket!”

Zayn’s face scrunches as he says, “Right. And don’t call me ‘mate’. Conveniently for me, you can pay your also-forgotten tab in exchange for your forgotten jacket.”

Louis is petrified. Absolutely embarrassed. He’s never left a pub without paying the bartender – well, that’s a lie. He’s never left a pub without paying a bartender _that he doesn’t know_ , a bartender who knows Louis will come in the next day and pay or one he knows well enough to receive a cheeky reminder text from. It doesn’t happen often, but as Louis recalls not for the first time tonight, he’s gotten himself into some situations before.

It’s always good to be on the bartender’s good side, and he’s been a bartender himself so he knows what it’s like, and he’s definitely not on Zayn’s good side or practiced his best bartender manners in skipping out on his bill after having met Zayn only once.

Louis winces and his eyes widen. “Oh! I’m so sorry, so so sorry. I was a right mess when I finally realized where I was,” he nervously and excitedly and charmingly says through a series of almost-giggles, running one hand through his hair. “Can I come in and pay you now?”

If Zayn were capable, Louis thinks Zayn would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he half-mumbles and almost-forcefully chuckles, “Thought I told you to steer out of trouble like the rest of the lot.”

Louis sighs with relief. He knows Zayn is probably only being friendly for the sake of his position, but he’s thankful either way. It’s not irreparable harm he’s done. Plus, Zayn has remembered specifics of their conversation earlier on in the night. Whether it’s only because Louis has forgotten his jacket behind Zayn’s bar or because his kind eyes are telling of a genuinely kind nature, Louis doesn’t know, nor does he care to because he is _freezing_.

“I never agreed,” Louis responds in a cheeky giggle. “Now let me in before I drop dead in the street from hypothermia!”

*****

The change in the atmosphere to the inside of the pub almost shocked Louis out of his hypothermic state.

No more were the dancing, screaming crowds. He could see the stage now; a green, carpeted, damp-looking area, slightly raised above floor level with a pearly white projector screen on the right. Chairs were put up on tables, the wooden floors lightly glistened as though they’d just been quickly mopped, with the glisten only being illuminated by whatever tealight candles still burned upon the wooden tables. The tables were all different heights, Louis noted, which somehow added to the place’s charm instead of cheapening it. Not one thing in this place matched another, except for everything being wooden. All different shades of light, dark, cool, warm, brown wood, barely visible in the almost-dark.

Damp. That’s what Louis would describe this place to be. Damp. The wooden floors, the wooden chairs perched upon wooden tables, all wet-looking and glistening, but not from a coat of varnish, but instead clinging to the moisture from the chill, almost-winter air. The wood seemed to absorb more than just moisture, Louis thought, with the wood holding secrets and tales of patrons past, much like the cobblestoned sidewalks outside the pub’s walls.

Echoey. Louis’ shallow, recovering-from-the-cold breaths almost seemed to echo in the wooden space, which is weird, Louis knows, because wood is supposed to absorb noise. The wood is supposed to keep secrets, holding them sacred for eternity, never sharing them with a soul and becoming weathered over time, losing strength with the weight of holding such secrets. It was almost like a sound vacuum, heightening Louis’ sensations, making him feel like the only person in a crowded world among the echoing silence of an empty room’s memories.

“I like this place when there’s no people in it,” Louis almost-whispered, seemingly to himself.

Zayn smirked as he took a step behind the wooden bar area, almost gliding as he did so. Louis noted that the bartender with the kind eyes almost glided as he did anything, really, seemingly never touching the ground as he moved around the now-empty wooden space.

“It’s my favourite part of the night,” Zayn continued to casually, slyly smirk.

Louis looked at Zayn, gliding about in the space between the wooden bar top and glistening wall of liquor bottles behind him. Zayn suddenly didn’t seem so out of place as he had when Louis had met him earlier on in the evening. His glistening, slicked-back raven hair twinkled with the liquor bottles, his satiny, creamy skin matching the tones of the almost endless wooden landscape which surrounded him. He seemed to belong here, Louis thought, with his kind eyes and gliding demeanor, seemingly enhancing the comforting feeling which surrounded him as he stood in the now-empty, silently echoing space. If this were an alternate universe, Louis thought Zayn might have wings attached to his back, soft and looming, casting a non-intrusive shadow on the world as flew close to the sun with no fear of falling out of the sky.

Louis silently smiled, eyes glistening and crinkled, as he watched Zayn move towards the far corner of the bar, where the bar top met the wall. Zayn, almost in one, fluid motion, slightly bent down, reaching into a seemingly endless pit of darkness, from which emerged Louis’ most anticipated sight.

“My jacket!” Louis hummed, making his way to Zayn at the bar, arms outstretched in an exaggerated, animated way which screamed _at last!_

Zayn held Louis’ jacket at his side, pulling his arm slightly backward, as he giggled the softest, most angelic and warmest giggle Zayn had ever heard, “Not until you pay your tab, Louis Tomlinson.”

Zayn placed Louis’ precious, most favourite jacket on the small edge of the bar top behind him, out of Louis’ reach. Zayn seemed to almost have been prepared for this moment, having already printed out a copy of Louis’ bill, which he placed face-down on the bar top in front of where Louis now sat.

“If you’d like me to pay my bill, I might need that jacket back sooner than you’d like,” Louis smirked at Zayn’s furrowed face, a furrow only accentuated by his feathery, full eyebrows. “My wallet’s in one of the pockets.”

Zayn sighed, not a sigh of annoyance or disbelief, but a sigh animated in a way only a bartender knows to do. A sigh feigning annoyance and disbelief, but not genuinely, almost playfully. A sigh Louis was all too well versed in himself, for he was also an actor in the movie that seemed to be his own life.

That’s a good way of putting it, actually, he thought as he watched the kind-eyed bartender float towards his most favourite jacket. He is an actor in a non-existent movie, and that movie is life and existence and the world itself. Almost like he were Jim Carey in The Truman Show, with all circumstances seemingly happening to him and not because of him, everything articulately planned and staged, slightly shifting as his thoughts and feelings do, but still following the grand plan the universe-but-actually-screenwriters has written for him. The only difference, really, being that he is aware of the plot that is supposed to be his life. He simultaneously, confusingly, understood his life's plan and had no fucking clue what was supposed to become of him. Everything and nothing all at once. Instead of living an ordinary life that—unbeknownst to him—takes place on a large set populated by actors for a television show about him, he lives an ordinary, solitary, boring and nothing-special life, mingling amongst other stars-of-their-own-shows with no vast populations of people watching his every move with unbreakable interest. There’s no one ensuring his safety, making sure he moves along this script and plan unhitched, but rather he moves through his scripted-unscripted life almost begrudgingly, still smiling when he’s supposed to and doing what’s asked of or planned for him. See, he feels as though he’s going through the motions, following a script that he hasn’t quite read yet, but still knows by heart. It must be the most boring script ever to have been written, he thinks, with nothing monumental happening and no climax of horror or great love and excitement or... Anything, really. Instead, he moves along this scripted-unscripted screenplay of nothing remarkable at all, and when the end credits inevitably and finally roll, they'll display no one’s name other than his own. He so desperately wanted to escape his inevitable scripted-unscripted screenplay, screaming on a boat to everyone and no one in particular, “IS THAT THE BEST YOU’VE GOT?”

 _You’ve no idea_ , the universe-or-something boomed at Louis’ very existence through cobblestone and wood.

*****

“Shit,” Louis mutters in a panic, fumbling through every part of his jacket, not even exclusively the pockets. Why his wallet would have wandered from the jacket’s collar or sleeves, Louis doesn’t know, but he checks anyways.

Zayn watches Louis as he does this with no reaction at all, just blankly, waiting until Louis finally accepts that his wallet is no longer with his jacket and seeing what Louis has to say about the situation at hand. Both of Zayn’s hands rest upon the bar top, shoulders slightly hunched over, unintimidating, but casually and like he’s done it a million times before. The only thing giving away that Zayn’s mind is even here in the present moment is the slightly pursed scowl his mouth holds, which didn’t match his still-kind, all-seeing and distracted eyes.

Louis looks to Zayn, mouth agape in genuine exasperation and confusion, as he lightly throws the top of the jacket in front of him, shaking his head and widening his eyes, dumbfounded. Louis knows his wallet was in his jacket, he’d made sure to check before handing it over to Zayn, along with his phone and flat keys, which now rested on the wooden bar top beside his now-not-so-favourite jacket, which had betrayed its picture-perfect place in Louis’ life by losing his wallet on his behalf.

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis says, shaking the dampened hair from his brow, dampened by either anxiety or the moisture-ridden air, he wasn’t sure, nor did he give any thought to. His only thought, the only feeling filling his skull and reverberating through his body, was _what do I do now?_

“I did say that keeping out of trouble would be payment enough,” Zayn smirks, amused, “but I didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”

“I don’t know where it went! What am I gonna do?” pleaded Louis, looking to Zayn with his face echoing a million apologies and, as the universe-or-something rumbles in acknowledgement and all-knowingly, maybe asks for reasons more than simply about his current lost-wallet predicament.

Zayn silently saunters over to Louis, picking up the bill that still lay face-down on the bar top. He takes the bill and places it in the till, bell chiming as the drawer opened. Zayn straightened, his non-existent wings seemingly taking shape at the sound of the bell, and looked to Louis, eyes still kind and raven hair still twinkling.

Before Zayn could respond, both Louis and Zayn look towards the left of the dancefloor, from where the loud click of a door opening had emanated, followed by a series of shuffles and other sounds of life, of movement. Louis could make out the shadow of a small, rather small actually, frizzy-headed creature in the shadows of darkness, making its way towards them, with what seemed to be a cloud of hellsmoke pillowing around him, following him as he shuffled along.

“All finished, boss,” a friendly, aged and weathered voice grumbled as a door Louis couldn’t see lightly slammed shut. The man’s face became more and more lit as he slowly shuffled towards the bar top, revealing a pleasant-looking and small old man with long grey hair with a cigarette hanging at the edge of his mouth. The man took a drag, raising yellowed and callused fingers to remove it from his mouth once he’d finished, blowing the smoke to join the rest of the pillow surrounding him, and tamping the cigarette out in a shiny auburn glass ashtray at the opposite end of the bar.

“Thanks, Willie. Usual?” Zayn asked, knowingly and trustingly, shifting his non-attention from Louis to the mysterious old man that Louis now knows is named Willie, and gliding towards the dimly-shining pint glasses neatly scattered on the bar top behind him, routinely picking up a pint glass and already beginning to loosen the cap off one of the tap’s spouts. Red ale, Louis quickly notices as Willie nods as he’s giving a half-turned smile to Zayn. Willie then notices the flabbergasted and wide-eyed Louis sitting at the bar.

“Thought I heard someone,” Willie says, eyes quickly looking over the disheveled sight that is Louis Tomlinson. “Straggler?”

“Forgot his jacket. And his wallet, apparently,” Zayn says, sliding Willie his pint of red ale atop a coaster which Louis thinks appeared out of thin air.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis apologizes profusely, genuinely, quickly, exasperatingly. He’s still pondering Willie, whose eyes hadn’t left Louis as he took his first sip of red ale and placed the pint glass back down on the coaster. Some bits of foam stuck to his not-bearded-but-whisker-shadowed upper lip, almost blending into the peppered shadows that dared to emerge from the leathery skin beneath them.

“Well, what are we to do about this, then?” Willie rumbled thickly through his Scottish accent, slightly raising his bushy eyebrows. He peeked at Zayn from above the rim of his pint glass as Zayn lightly shrugged one shoulder and tilted his head towards it. If Louis had passed Willie on the street, if he even existed beyond the realms of nighttime and smoke, Louis would have thought Willie to be a sailor, a fishing boat captain to be exact, one who sported a floppy and dirty yellow rainhat for seemingly no reason as the rain and waves would inevitably soak every inch of him, regardless. He seemed fitting to this damp, wooden, ship-like environment, Louis thought.

“Dunno, Willie,” sighed Zayn. “When’s the last time you had a holiday?”

“Holiday?” Willie questioned, almost accusingly, not seeming to have ever heard the word before and thinking Zayn to be speaking a foreign language. Or, maybe, not understanding Zayn’s light and northern Bradford accent.

“Yes, holiday. You could use one of those,” Zayn smirked with quiet and reassuring eyes, reaching across the bar to give a nudge to Willie’s arm with his wrist. His gaze shifted to light concern, genuinely asking Willie, “When’s the last time you visited your family?” The way Zayn spoke to Willie was so comforting, like he was cradling Willie in his angel wings with love and adoration. Almost like Zayn were Willie’s father, despite Willie clearly being much older than Zayn by a longshot, old enough to be his grandfather. It seemed Zayn and Willie knew each other a long while, which only made Louis have more questions about the angel who befriended this fishing boat captain from an unwritten fairytale.

At that, Willie’s eyes crossed beneath a furrowed brow as he scoffed and took another sip of his red ale. “Nae bother. Not much of a holiday if family’s involved, is it?”

Apparently, Zayn is once again capable of rolling his eyes after all, as he does so at Willie’s response. His eyes lock with Willie’s, whose brow is still furrowed and stern in silent retaliation as he continues to sip on his red ale, leaning back in his barstool which seemed to mould to the hunch of his small-but-husky-but-frail-but-strong frame. Zayn sighs, almost invisibly, and turns to look at Louis once again.

Louis doesn’t exactly know what’s going on or why both Zayn and Willie were looking at him expectantly, brows furrowed, foreheads wrinkled. Louis was good at analyzing people, skilled even, but he hadn’t a clue what any of this was meant to signify, not in the slightest.

A singular, minute point, from it emerging the entirety of the matter in the universe, couldn’t compare to what was about to happen to one Louis Tomlinson.

In a split second, 13.8 billion years of history flashed; dust left over from the birth of the sun collected, the mystery of single-celled organisms transforming into the first signs of vertebrates and plants and oxygen. Volcanoes erupted, asteroids struck, tsunamis and earthquakes and evolution and creation and destruction, all ebbed and flowed through the fabric of time and space. Moving forward, faster and faster, everything crinkled and exploded in bright flashes of white and light, everything in the history and the future of anything and everything hurled itself through anything and everything in and of itself.

This moment, however, caused the plan to change. To pause.

Nobody felt it. Nobody could sense the change in the expanse of time, and space, and the earth beneath their feet. The winds didn’t shift, the waters didn’t rise. Birds still lay sleeping in their nests, perched calmly in the treetops somewhere nearby, ruffling their feathers at the light, dewy mist in the almost-winter air.

But, in this very moment, this moment of volcanoes and asteroids and tsunamis and earthquakes and evolution and creation and destruction and flashing light: everything changed.


End file.
